


Needed, Wanted

by tiniestdormouse



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Elliot being confused, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gilbert being sweet, Leo being a gossip, M/M, Nightraycest - Freeform, PH Fanfest, Polyamory, Romance, Sibling Incest, Smut, Vincent being an enigmatic fucker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-22 00:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3708527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestdormouse/pseuds/tiniestdormouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elliot tries to amend the estrangement between his adopted brothers and gets much more than he bargained for. AU set during the ten-year time skip. Elliot/Vincent/Gilbert; Elliot/Leo. Originally written for the PH Fanfest. M for incest smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (love and reassurance)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is a not-for-profit fanwork production. All rights to images, characters, logos, and names included therein from the Pandora Hearts anime/manga series are owned by Jun Mochizuki, Yen Press, and Square Enix respectively.
> 
> All original elements — including story text — are owned by tiniestdormouse. No fanwork from this work may be duplicated or redistributed without expressed permission from the original creator.
> 
> Note: Originally written for the PH Fanfest (phfanfest dot tumblr dot com). Elliot and Leo are aged up to 18.

 

(part 1. love and reassurance)

Vincent hates to be touched when upset-Elliot realizes this a moment too late. Had Elliot took a few extra minutes to think through his entrance, rather than pounding on the door, demanding to be let in and barging through as soon as he noticed the door was ajar, he would have seen the signs.

Human contact is simply too much of an invasion of Vincent's personal space: how often had Vince kept a bubble around him at balls, tea invitations, social callings?

The shove sends Elliot crashing into the far wall by the bookshelf, the force so strong the shelves shudder upon impact.

Elliot feels the wind knocked out of him. Blue eyes flash like steel. "What was that for?" he snaps, ever resilient in ways Vincent never could be. He shrugs off the blow, though not entirely unhurt, for he favors his right shoulder as he whirls upon Vincent in retaliation. "I only asked what's wrong-!"

"Go away!" Vincent is up, defensive. Dark circles under his eyes, clothes wrinkled, hair in disarray; Elliot was used to seeing his immaculately-groomed older sibling. Did he send Echo away?

"No! Not until you give me a reason why."

Elliot certainly entered the room on a mission: Vincent had vanished for the past week, and Elliot sensed the rest of the household sequestering that awfulness away rather than dealing with it. Maids typically avoided his rooms, he noticed, even though the wing was closest to the servants quarters. Vincent's absence during mealtimes was ignored by the household (including by Gilbert, during the one time he showed up for supper). Even Echo his manservant, who Elliot occasionally spotted beating out carpets or carrying the laundry in and out of his rooms, had similarly disappeared from the estate without a trace.

He had knocked several times on Vincent's door over the course of the last few days to no avail. What if he's sick? Or worse? Elliot imagines a desiccated corpse trailing blond hair (already, he is well-aware of Vincent's thinness) and his mind's eye speeds forward from this week to the next and the next, and Vincent's still body remaining, going grey, attracting vermin, bloating with decay...

"Ridiculous," Elliot had told himself, disturbed since his thoughts usually never go so morbid, and promptly stormed Vincent's rooms, breaking through the door into the receiving room to find Vincent very much alive and staring listlessly into space.

"He's been just sitting there!" the thought had crashed through Elliot's brain, cutting through the worry, and he had made the mistake to grab Vincent by the arm.

Now his adopted brother is roused from his stupor. "Don't." The red eye glints, hard as stone, as Vincent lifts his head from his half-raised arms, posed from the push he had dispensed.

Elliot hates to be refused when upset, and Elliot gets the most upset by two things: when people he cares about are hurt and when people he cares about deny him. He approaches the chaise-lounge where Vincent huddles by the scrolling headrest and lowers his face to be on-level with his adopted brother's.

"I'm not leaving until you talk," he says and as a confirmation of this, he sits by Vincent, deliberately touching his leg to Vincent's body as the older man hugged his knees. He raises an eyebrow, daring Vincent to push him away again.

Vincent acquiesces to his younger sibling's wishes, sighing in a way that fluffs out his bangs. He turns, however, facing away toward the windows and doesn't say a word.

Ten minutes pass. Elliot can be patient when required (discipline is key for any knight after all).

During this interim, he tried putting himself in Vincent's shoes. His behavior certainly reminded him of his best friend Leo. When Leo's hurt, he feels dark emotions boiling inside him and he has to contain them before they spill out, untamed and uncontrollable. Elliot couldn't relate to this reaction at all, but Leo once compared himself to a malfunctioning boiler. Better to lock himself up tight and seal away this heat than let it explode. This is not instinctual, but a habit learned hard. ("But boilers don't work that way," Elliot had pointed out, "you have to relieve the valves or it explodes anyway." He never got a proper reply from Leo on that).

Elliot makes this connection between Leo and Vincent. Touch them anywhere when they feel exposed and pay the price. He runs a hand through his hair and gives an equally frustrated sigh to match Vincent's stormy reclusiveness. He brushes his fingers against Vincent's shoulder - he has to test this theory one more time - and Vincent shies away further into his seat, internal hackles raised.

His silence transforms into an oppressive cloud that spreads across the entire room. Finally, he offers a guess.

"Is it Gilbert?"

The name only intensifies the weight of this cloud, thickening the air with tension.

"What happened?"

"None of your concern."

"Gil's an idiot-" he starts, but before he completes the sentence, Elliot is on the ground, a boot pressed against his chest. Vincent towers over him, the red in his single eye becoming a dagger in anger.

"You have no right to talk about my  _real_  brother that way."

The emphasis stings, but Elliot fights the urge to retaliate, guessing Vincent's aim. "He's your real brother, so what? He's hurt you that much and hasn't cracked out an explanation, so he's also an idiot." The heel digs in and Elliot holds in the wince of pain. "In fact," he continues, "I have no issue calling Gil a jerk. I call Ernest and Claude and Vanessa jerks too when they are. And they're my  _real_  siblings." He gasps as the pressure eases and Vincent retracts, but remains standing. His pose is cautious, arms tight across his chest, mouth a thin line to match his furrowed pale brows.

Hurt and irritated, Elliot can't help but be caught off-guard by the cold, regal expression on Vincent's face. Disdain, as if Elliot is beneath him, No, even worse- that Elliot doesn't matter.

In a flash, Elliot recalls all the boyhood memories containing Vincent and that exclusionary glare, specifically made when Gilbert was also present. Elliot didn't understand except in all the ways a child understood another's dislike of them. Maybe Vincent thought he was annoying. Maybe he was jealous and wanted Gilbert's attention all to himself. Maybe Vincent was just a bad person.

But then-Gilbert smiled. Gilbert laughed. Gilbert played Elliot's games seriously and helped him with his lessons when Vanessa or Ernest were too busy. Gilbert offered a seat between him and Vincent during bedtime readings. While thunderstorms raged outside, Elliot hopped into their shared bed and found solace between his two newest brothers.

Slowly, bit-by-bit, those disdainful, jealous, or indifferent looks from Vincent appeared less and less. Elliot had thought they moved years beyond these childhood rivalries and fears, but now, he senses them all rise up again like quicksilver in Vincent's dual-colored eyes.

"Why?" he thinks. "Aren't we different now?"

Elliot presses a gloved hand to his chest, rubbing the sore spot on his sternum. A keen sense of his own failure gives the ache a sharper edge. Where the hell is Gilbert anyway? Vincent never cursed his "real" brother with that dismissive look.

More and more often, his other adopted sibling had been missing from the Nightray manor, spending his days at Pandora since contracting the Raven. The last time he saw Gilbert, Elliot realizes, was last week last in the kitchen. Whenever Gilbert came in late from Pandora duties, he usually took his meals there (a minor slight from the servants, who refused to take meals to Gilbert or Vincent's rooms after a certain time, but neither of them complained).

He voices this thought. "Gilbert got really upset, actually," he mutters, half to himself, half to watch Vincent's reactions. "I bumped into him in the hallway. He was leaving and sounded very irritated... Did you see him-"

"No." His expression betrays him, and Elliot is on his feet and heading toward the door. Vincent crosses in an instant, blocking his way. "Don't talk to Gilbert." The command sounds like a threat.

"Why'd you care? He might not even be around-"

A fist bunches up the lapels of his waistcoat. Head bowed, wrist trembling, knuckles clenched white, Vincent emits a low hiss. "I said, Elliot, this is none of your business."

"Fine." Force meets force as Elliot wrenches Vincent's grip on his clothes. The sudden turn in his disposition has him wary as well as he mentally dances around the fragile state the other man is in. "But I still gotta leave your rooms, right? Unless you want me here."

At a stalemate, Vincent suddenly shrugs, stretches and yawns. "Whatever," he says, keeping his voice deceptively light, "I need a nap anyway." He crosses the receiving room and slams the bedroom door.

Though Elliot knows he has won this first round, his shoulders tense. He isn't the best at explaining nuance or mending issues between people, but he knows what Vincent craves is love and reassurance. In Vincent he recognizes that quiet, strange boy from years ago, spending days picking the stuffing out of his toys. At the same time, though, he also sees a quiet bookworm in the dusty corner of an orphanage library. Elliot got through to Leo, and he can get through to Vincent.

Vincent has no reason for dragging himself about like a wounded puppy when it is obvious that the whole reason why Elliot had confronted him was because he  _cared_. Elliot bites his lower lip. His feelings didn't matter, and his own convictions won't help. He hits his fist against the threshold as he exits. As the dull pain resonates up his arm, he wonders again whether Vincent realizes how much he's loved.

Perhaps Elliot's love doesn't mean a shit.

Only Gilbert can give him that, apparently.  _Well, if it's Gil Vince wants_ , Elliot thinks,  _I'll make Gilbert apologize for whatever the hell he did, even if I have to beat that apology into the idiot's thick skull._


	2. (awkward confession)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After not getting any explanations from Vincent (and a rather disturbing warning from Leo), Elliot confronts Gilbert to discover the truth. But can he actually handle it?

(part 2. awkward confession)

Elliot hopes to find Gilbert in his rooms, but isn't so lucky. He calls a stable boy to ready a carriage to Pandora; the trip would cost him a couple of hours, he suspects, but he'd rather go to Gilbert than wait around in vain.

Calling for his own carriage still felt novel to him; only a few months before did he go through his coming-of-age ceremony, officially becoming an adult and earning the freedom, for one thing, of traveling independently without a chaperone. He had been to Pandora a few times before-there was an officer there who was pretty much the most skilled swordsman in the nation, and since he was ten Elliot have stopped by to challenge him on a yearly basis (he hadn't won yet, but that did not damper his determination!)

Gilbert had been the one to tell him all about Xerxes Break and took him on those Pandora trips-the memory pained him, recalling that latest challenge also being the last time he and Gil took a trip anywhere together. When had Gilbert become so distant?

"Brother trouble?"

Leo's feet are propped on the glass-topped parlor table as he watches Elliot gathering his outwear from his wardrobe to confront the biting autumn chill. A good manservant would retrieve the Nightray noble's things for him, but then again, Elliot doesn't keep Leo around because he is a good manservant.

"You know, Elliot..." Leo pauses. "There's something about those two." He lowers the book and tosses it on the table. Elliot catches the title and rolls his eyes. "The Depraved and the Desolate: a Romance," the cover reads. Leo's lurid reading choices embarrasses him.

"What?" He shoulders his cloak around the Nightray sword sheathed and buckled at his waist, a family heirloom he's carried with him since his father anointed him during the ceremony. This was the best gift he had ever received from him, and he always makes sure to have the weapon by his side.

"I heard the servants gossiping. You shouldn't be getting in the middle of their lovers' spat."

"Wh-wh-what spat?" His fingers stumble upon the clasp of the traveling cloak.

"We've been in school so I guess it's no surprise we hadn't heard the rumors until the fall break." Leo kicks off his boots and gets to his feet to lean an elbow on the back of his chair. "As the great Lady Bard says, they've been making 'the beast with two backs.'"

"Stop joking!"

"'Stallion and ass makes a mule-'"

"Shut up!" A wave of repulsion washed over him. "They'd say any terrible thing against them," Elliot snaps. "I can't believe you'd propagate their lies."

"S'not just what the servants say, but how your brothers act. Y'know how much Vincent clings to Gilbert. Have you ever seen either of them ask any lord or lady on a date? Especially since Gilbert snagged the Raven and the attention of every single marriageable noble in the land. And-" Leo puts a finger to his chin, "actually, they do make a cute couple-"

Elliot tosses a throw cushion from the divan at Leo's head. "You've been reading too much trash."

Leo catches the pillow before it lands and lobbies it back, catching Elliot square between the shoulders. "I'm only telling it as I see it."

"Hrumf." The head butler knocks on his door to tell him that the carriage was waiting. Elliot is tempted to ask Leo to come along as he confronts Gilbert, so he'd be there to get the truth straight from the angel's mouth, as the saying goes, but decides not to. Not that he believes the lies; his family engaging in pure scandal... Ugh, curse the help and their wicked, lowborn tongues!

"I'm bring Gil back home," he declares as he leaves. "In the meantime, keep an eye out for Vincent, can you?"

Leo claps Elliot on the shoulder. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Good luck." His voice turning serious, he adds, "This is their drama. Just because you're family doesn't mean you have to put yourself in the middle of their own mess. It's not your fault."

"Who says it is?" Elliot retorts, turning heel. "Later."

Over the course of the carriage ride, Leo's parting words annoy Elliot. He is the one trying to keep the Nightray family together. That's all. After Fred's death at the hands of the Head Hunter, everything changed. Mother went into mourning, started seeing mystics to try and summon his ghost in night-long seances. Claude and Ernest are rarely home, on a nationwide search for Fred's murderer; Elliot only hears about them through intermittent letters. Vanessa is also away, spending most of her time training her horses and running Fred's southern estate. Father, that imposing presence in the household, concerns himself with inner politics of Pandora and some strange new project he is conducting. Sometimes, it feels like the only people who remain in Elliot's life are Leo, Vincent, and Gilbert, and if his remaining brothers at home are at odds, then why shouldn't Elliot get involved?

Elliot refuses to indulge in morose thoughts and instead, he makes a strategy that runs through his mind over and over, like a routine regime of training exercises.

Step one: Talk to Gilbert. Try not to smash the bugger's head in.

Step two: Convince him to come home, at least for supper.

Step three: Wrangle him into Vincent's rooms (he is not convinced he can lure the blond man out).

Step four: Make them forgive each other.

There, that doesn't sound very difficult. Only simply impossible.

The carriage pulls in the front of the Pandora headquarters. Just one way to handle this now. Elliot exhales, adjusts his sword sheath, and exits.

He thinks Gilbert would be finishing up at the shooting range, but he's actually in the gymnasium doing calisthenics. He's out of official uniform, dressed in loose trousers, bare-foot and bare-chested, gripping a suspended beam like a trapeze artist. Elliot approaches from the rear of the room, behind him, and sees the outline of the muscles of his back and arms flex as he does chin-ups. Five, six, seven. Elliot stares.

He's never seen Gil do anything except handle guns and it seems out of his element, catching him doing something purely athletic and succeeding at it. But of course, Pandora had toughened his brother up since he joined as a bird-boned, weakling youth. Gilbert and Vincent shared gangly limbs, slim and pale; but unlike Vincent, who seemed to exist like a waif, Gilbert built a wiry but strong frame over time, akin to a sprinter or a circus performer. For all the times Elliot had teased Gil that he'd never become a knight with all of those spindly limbs, he underestimated the coils of steel beneath.

The only sound is the soft grunts from his brother. Abruptly, Elliot clears his throat, if only for a reason to slide his gaze away from the sharp relief of Gilbert's back, creamy smooth against the dark wooden paneling of the room.

Gilbert drops, bracing his knees for the impact and lands softly on the stuffed mats. A glance over his shoulder, flicking sweat-soaked hair from his brow.

"Elliot? What are you doing here?"

For some reason, Elliot finds it difficult to speak. "It's Vincent."

A cloud over those golden eyes. "What about him?" Gilbert picks up a towel from a bench, rubs it across his neck, his hairline, the sweat glistening across his chest.

Elliot tries hard to meet Gilbert's face. A mixture of envy and desire floods him and he can't understand why.  _Gil lied!_  he thinks, a sudden hit of fury overtaking him.  _He's not the weakling he thinks he is. I have to start working harder with my training regime. That's it. Maybe Gil's been taking pointers from Sir Xerxes._  He fiddles with the buckles of his sheath.

"You haven't been home all week," he begins, trying to find his bearings as Gilbert throws on his shirt and re-ties his cravat, pulls on his stockings and his boots. "And Vincent's been extremely upset. He doesn't leave his rooms at all; he doesn't eat; I think he sent Echo away somewhere because I came in today and his rooms were a mess-"

"His rooms are always a mess," Gilbert says, jerking the left boot up his calf. Skinny but defined, he is, and there's a grace to every gesture.

Gil runs a hand through his hair and shakes out the locks a bit. With the towel in his hands, he gives his head a rough tousle, drying the damp strands. Like seaweed, Elliot muses quietly, but the way the few bits stick to the back of his neck...

He rushes on. "I confronted him and he won't talk. But I think you're a part of this."

Gilbert bends his head down so he can't see his expression, but his voice sounds low. "Vincent gets upset a lot, Elliot. He gets cranky over minor things, especially if Echo isn't there to follow his orders." He straightens up, his face flushed from the exercise. There is a lock out of place and Elliot wants to brush it back. He doesn't realize that his hand is extended toward Gil until Gil glances at it, touches his own cheek, and moves the wayward piece of hair. "You should be looking for her, not me."

Guiltily, Elliot retracts, stuffs the offending hand into his pocket, gripping the sword handle hard in the other. "But Leo said-" The words tumble heedlessly, and Elliot freezes as he watches Gilbert's shoulders go rigid.

"Said what?" Elliot has his full attention now, though he retreats a step, as if plotting an escape plan in his head.

"That you two, um, you were, well." Elliot tries to think of a good lie, but he's always been a horrid liar, so he sticks to the truth and blurts out the awkward confession. "That you and Vince were having a lovers' spat."

Immediately, a burst of laughter escapes Elliot, and the next ramble makes his voice rise higher and higher as he runs out of breath while saying it. "How ridiculous right? I mean, Leo has a dirty mind and he heard it from the staff but I'm sure he didn't mean lovers' spat as in  _lovers_  because the both of you aren't  _lovers_  and it's just, just  _insane_  to assume you are and Leo's head is in the gutter, I swear, and I don't know what he's been reading lately but honestly you two aren't doing...anything..."

Gilbert hasn't moved at all, but the blush creeps in. First the crimson rises up from his collarbone and emerges from around his ears; his cheeks bloom brighter and the sweat on his forehead increases.

After Elliot trails off, Gilbert falls onto the bench, as if his confused babble were strings holding him up until they got cut. He folds his arms into his knees, a position paralleling one that his younger brother held earlier.

Silence. Dreadful telling silence.

Elliot joins Gilbert on the far end of the bench, emotions in turmoil. He raises an arm as if to strike him, holds it in mid-air, then lets it fall. The wave of fear and shame that was cresting over the carriage ride crashes down and Elliot fights against the breakers with a scream. "Leo is ONLY JOKING. That's what he does. He's a FILTHY JOKER AND I SWEAR I'll PUMMEL HIM-"

"Please don't." Defeated words. Elliot drowns under their weight.

"That's... that's sick, y'know?" He gulps some air and can't bear to look at his adopted brother - not, he can't bear to look at a fellow Nightray who misbehaved in the most taboo way he could dream of. No, Gilbert is not a  _true_  Nightray; he wasn't even his  _real_  brother-

The thought stops. "No, Vincent isn't right; I won't let Vincent be right," Elliot internally protests. "No, Gilbert's mine, he and Vince are both mine and they are the only family I have left."

"Vincent acted inappropriately," Gilbert whispers. The towel drapes across his shoulders but frames his neck and face like chains on a prisoner. "No, I...I acted inappropriately. We shouldn't have done anything. Gods, I'm sorry, Elliot." As the admittance pours forth, Gilbert's steeped fingers begin to shake. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to hear about us. Not as gossip. Like we're garbage."

Elliot wonders if he could ever touch Gilbert again in any manner, but the way Gilbert sounds so broken, it is almost a compulsion how easily he grasps Gilbert's spidery fingers in his. He kneels before Gilbert to press their hands together. A knight taking his vows to his beloved.

"Hey, hey, I'm not ashamed," he says, and though he does feel shame, biting and cruel, suddenly comforting Gilbert takes priority over thoughts of family pride. Gilbert twists his hands away, moves to his feet, and whips the towel from his shoulders to hit the seat of the bench.

"I've got a tenement room," he says, "I don't need to stay at the manor anymore. I can't."

"That's a stupid idea, Gilbert." Elliot matches his stride as Gilbert exits the gymnasium. "No, you're coming home and talking to Vincent."

"This isn't something we can undo."

"So it won't. But a Nightray can't live in a squalor. I won't let you." Elliot outpaces him, grabs his forearms. He feels the heat of Gilbert's skin and strength of those hidden muscles. He squeezes and feels their resistance. "You're family, Gil," he growls. "We'll work this out. The three of us."

Gilbert can't meet his eyes and Elliot gives a hard shake. Gilbert seems to tremble like a twig before it snaps. "Are you listening, fool? You are  _my_  family, Gilbert, and Vincent is too, and I won't let us fall apart now."

Suddenly a thought strikes him and his stomach twists because he didn't think of this before. "Vincent didn't... hurt you, did he?"

"No. We wanted it." The answer is immediate. Elliot sighs in relief. He's unsure about whether willing incest was much better than forced incest but at least he knew that consent isn't the reason why Gilbert's upset. Perhaps it's pure mortification. Elliot can't be sure whether that's the best option, but otherwise the mere thought of a Nightray being a rapist blinded him in uncontrollable righteous anger against such a criminal.

Elliot leads Gilbert outside, waves for their carriage. He's used to strategizing, and a cold logical train of thinking runs through his brain as they both enter the enclosed space.

They could keep Gilbert and Vincent's affair a secret, as long as no one outside of the manor talks, and Father doesn't find out. But Elliot hates secrets and the need for keeping them. He weighs the consequences of telling Father and of not telling him and decides perhaps that wasn't outright deception, only selective truth-telling. Besides which, Father is probably too busy with his own affairs to bother about whatever his children did as long as it didn't get them killed or arrested.

As their ride enters the main throughway toward the estate, Elliot crosses his arms. "Now, Gilbert, we can figure this out," he says, "But you have to be honest and tell me everything that you and Vincent have ever done."

And so Gilbert does and before the ride ends, Elliot realizes this is more than a mere isolated incident or a curious fling with the forbidden.

More worryingly, he slowly feels a tightening in his trousers the longer Gilbert talks about Vincent, stuttering and blushing, and no matter how much he blames Leo for having the dirty mind, Elliot silently admits to having one too.


	3. (missing)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot tries his best to understand his adopted brothers, and at the peak of his frustrations (of all sorts), he runs into Vincent, who tells him an awful fact.

(part 3. missing)

Elliot feels heat and weight and the purring of a voice by his ear which makes his heart race and his groin tighten. He lies on the sheets and the bed curtains to his canopy flutter about him, stirred by unknown, hot winds. The balcony door bangs open - the source of such gales. Elliot rises from the bed to go to the window, but a hand pulls him back to the comforts of the feather bed.

"Don't leave me," begs the voice, soft and panting. He turns and there is Vincent, dressed in an full-length nightgown, his usual wear beneath his woolen robes. But the long gown's pearl buttons are all undone, revealing vulnerable, looking skin. His eyes, Elliot notices, are wide, desperate, almost child-like and the grip on his wrist is firm and demanding.

Vincent cups Elliot's chin, pressed their foreheads close. "Stay here," he murmurs and before Elliot could protest - the balcony doors needed to be shut, the wind is too strong - Vincent's lips are on his and all he feels is the slow, slithering movement of his adopted brother on top on him.

"We have to find him. Save him please," comes the whisper between kisses. Elliot flails, tries to push Vincent away, so confused (How did he get in his bedroom? Why is this weather so bloody insane?)

"Leo?" he calls, knowing that his manservant slept in the quarters next door. "Leo, shut the balcony-"

Vincent pins to the bed, straddling his waist and the tightness in Elliot's crotch increases. Vincent thrusts his hips once, twice, and says, suddenly urgent and frightened, "We have to save Gilbert! Please don't leave me!" Tears start forming at the corners of his eyes, diamonds complimenting the jewel tones of ruby and topaz.

"I'm not going anywhere." Elliot reaches out, steadies Vincent by grabbing the other man's hips as they begin to move together. "We'll find him, we'll find him," he starts to pant as well, while the logical part of his brain observes that humping your older sibling is not a productive search-and-rescue procedure.

"Shhhh, Vince, don't cry," answers a voice behind Vincent and a pair of lanky arms wraps around his torso from behind, gripping his chest. Gilbert pulls Vincent to him in this backwards embrace, proceeds to nibble the other man's neck. Vincent gives a soft whimper and collapses into the older man's hold while still thrusting against Elliot. Elliot moans and then claps a hand over his mouth. He is too loud. What if Leo-?

"Elliot?"

He turns his head and there is Mother, standing on the balcony. So wan, so elegant, so drawn and tired. A thin hand goes to her milk-pale lips, trembling. "Elly, darling..."

"Mother!" Elliot struggles to throw off Vincent and Gilbert, but the bed curtains turn to chains, wrapping around both wrists and holding him against the headboard. "Mother, look away, please-"

"Shameful!" Father intones by the bedside. Gilbert and Vincent have vanished and Elliot is left behind on a bare mattress, wrists shackled. "Father, it's not what you think-"

"You wretched scum," Lord Nightray snaps. "My youngest boy, nothing but a depraved fool!"

"No, I didn't mean-"

"Dishonorable scum," The Duke says. He is holding the Nightray sword; he is drawing the blade. "This will be merciful. Better to protect our legacy than smear it with your filth."

The blade glows sliver in the moonlight. He raises it high and straight over Elliot's chest, ready to impale his son through the heart.

"No, please, Father, no, please-"

xxxx

Elliot wakes with a gasp. The bed-curtains are still; the balcony doors shut tight. The room is silent except for the muffled sound of Leo's snores from next door. Still shaken by the dream, he beats all of the canopy curtains to be sure no one lurked behind them, and stumbles out into the cold landing of the balcony. Outside, the full orange moon glows. Saint Vesta's moon.

He shudders, and lets the brisk air cool off his fevered head and calm his erection. After a few moments, he decides the air isn't enough and goes to the bath to splash water on his face from the porcelain basin.

Ridiculous. That whole dream was impossible. An anxiety dream, he decides. Unused to confronting night terrors, Elliot takes a steady draught of cold water straight from the tap and then paces the main receiving room. He doesn't feel like sleeping, too worked up with energy. He glances at Leo's closed bedroom door, walks over, and presses his closed fist upon the wood. Inside, he hears Leo give a soft snort, mutter some nonsense, and then the steady rhythm of his sleep.

Leo is the steadier head; he'd be able to talk to him. But about what? "Sorry, chap, but I was dreaming of fucking my brothers and wanted to get this feeling out of my system." A thought fleetingly passes about not mentioning Vincent or Gilbert at all, but waking Leo to a set of his own amorous intentions. What would kissing Leo feel like? Would Leo enjoy that?

Or would this be even more fodder for the next day, when Leo rolls over and asks whether he's Jane Eyre to Elliot's Mr. Rochester?

Or worse, whether Leo wouldn't jest at all.

Gods, he wouldn't even dream of leading his friend on, even if it could be mutual (and in this state, Elliot couldn't make sense of anything at all).

His hand slides down the door and falls to his side. He needs to leave and do something. Something not having to do with sex.

One week ago, Elliot had escorted his raven-haired brother back to the Nightray manor to confront Vincent, and, what Elliot hoped, for a resolution to their recent stoniness towards each other. Gilbert had confessed he and Vincent were having carnal relations and he thought avoiding the manor and renting his own flat would be the best solution to the issue.

Elliot had listened, trying to replace Gilbert - his brother - and Vincent - his other brother - with the names and faces of his schoolmates in Gilbert's narrative. Thinking this drama between them was only a bit of rude-boy talk in the training room, and these two were not his family members avoiding scandal, but misfortunate mates in a difficult bind.

Elliot didn't offer any positive reaction aside from the stiff remark, "I don't think this is proper at all, Gilbert, but you're still a coward for running off and upsetting Vincent." (That was proper advice he'd give to any fellow who dumped his lad, and not just for a provocative, reputation-ruining relationship). He judged - and judged harshly - puzzled about what was so tempting about copulating with one's own kin.

He spent most of the week puzzling this logic out. Elliot once picked up one of Leo's yellow-backed romance novels and read through the entire volume in one afternoon. He got quite a few interesting ideas from it (he never knew fingers could go  _there_  and be pleasurable!) but nothing much else.

Considering Gilbert, Elliot admitted he was in the most unusual situation. Gil came to the manor as a young adolescent, most of his childhood memories forgotten. In that manner, how much did Vincent seem like a brother and how much did he seem like that odd child he happened to know growing up? Know and eventually fell in love with?

Vincent, too, claimed to recall nothing except that he had a brother. Did he feel a sense of sibling camaraderie at all then (surely, Elliot thought, Vincent always had been the clingy sort...)? He tried to imagine Vincent's perspective, knowing Gilbert but not really knowing for a fact they were family, and yet trusting him for many, many years until, as they got older, wanting more than trust...

Elliot tried to pretend that he were Gilbert and Leo were Vincent, and then stipulate whether they would fall in love. He was breakfasting with Leo when he had this thought experiment. As Elliot watched Leo pick out bits between his teeth with a toothpick and flick the results away, he wondered, "Are these the circumstances for attraction?"

As to the resolution to Gil and Vince's squabble, whatever it was, Elliot didn't know. As soon as he escorted Gilbert to Vincent's rooms, the door opened and there Vince was, arms crossed, glaring. He and Gilbert stared at each other for a solid minute before the shorter man pulled Gilbert into the room and slammed the door.

Elliot had stood in the hallway, very much the third wheel, and tentatively pressed an ear to the door. If there was bickering - or anything else - to be had, Elliot couldn't tell. He lingered for a few minutes, resentment rising over the fact that after all this trouble he had gone through returning Gilbert, neither he nor Vincent even said a simple, "Hey, Elliot, thanks," before dismissing him entirely.

Again, a feeling of isolation overcame him then. He'd forever be locked out of that secret, inner world that Gilbert and Vincent shared and felt very much jealous of it all.

He was the one left out, or - better put - Elliot was missing something in his life. He floated, aimless, kinless, with so few tethers to hold him to this world, as opposed to all of the chaos about him.

Now, trying to find something to distract him for all of these distressing thoughts, Elliot changes into his training clothes. He picks up his family sword and almost fastens the hilt about his waist, but seeing his father aiming the blade at his chest again stops him from taking the sword. Instead, he grabs his helmet and a fencing foil from the stack in the corner.

The hallways of the Nightray manor are eerily silent. Though he can't explain why, he takes the servants' hallways around the back corners of the house, though he doubts he'll run into anyone in the main halls. The back gardens are best accessed through the servants' corridors, though, Elliot needed to get to the gardens and quickly. All of his training mannequins and other fighting equipment are stored in the back shed there. A few turns through his regular routine, a dozen laps around the perimeter, and Elliot would be just fine.

Turning the corner by the kitchens, a hooded figure nearly slams into him.

"Whoa!" Elliot flourishes the foil and presses it to the intruder's chest.

"En garde." The hood lowers and Vincent smiles back at him.

Elliot drops the weapon and his helmet. They clatter to the ground.

"Hush." Vincent puts a forefinger to his curved lips. "Mustn't wake the household, Elly."

"Vince! What in blazes are you doing out here?"

"I could ask the same." In the slanting moonlight, Elliot notices that Vincent's hair is again unkempt and his boots were muddy. Vincent leans in and whispers in his ear, "For whatever reason are you practicing in the middle of the night, hmmm? Got some extra pip to squeeze out?"

Elliot shifts backwards but not before the whiff of smells hits him like a wave - of gunpowder and peppermint and deep musk that stirs strange feelings from the dream. Elliot doesn't understand why his sense of smell is so attuned, until he realizes that familiar odor of Gilbert's sweat.

That scent had fill the carriage last time he and Gilbert shared one a week ago. The resentment from that recollection fills Elliot again as he smells Gilbert on Vincent's clothes, his skin, and he grabs the clasp of the man's cloak. "What is going on now? Sneaking about? Were you with Gilbert?"

"Tut, tut, tut," Vincent tsks. His mood had obviously improved throughout the week, despite the fact that Gilbert hadn't returned to the manor at all since that night. "Worried about me, little brother?" A causal half-smile. "How sweet of you." He taps Elliot with a long finger (how similar his hands are to Gil's) and slips from his hold.

Elliot fists another fold of Vincent's cloak to stop him. "It's not funny," he scowls. "I was worried about you both like hell and now you go on as if everything is fine? What in the Abyss was going on between you and Gil?"

"Oh? Nosy, are we?" Vincent turns and Elliot notices how feline that move appears, with his blond hair wild like a mane about his shoulders and those eyelids lowered just so.

"Tell me is this a sibling thing or an …intimate thing?"

"If you must wonder, it was about you," Vincent laughs. "Gilbert talks about you incessantly, Elly." Elliot lowers his hand, stunned.

"Really?"

"Since there is absolutely nothing else we could  _possibly_  be talking about, with Frederic being dead and all." Vincent's flat remark cuts like a knife and Elliot feels the guilt stab at him about his oldest brother, murdered.

"So Gilbert's being a coward about the Head Hunter? That's why he left?"

"Believe me, he has more than enough reason to remain in the manor." Vincent touches his chin and then reaches out to stroke his fingers down Elliot's jawline. Elliot flinches and Vincent gives a soft laugh. "Truth be told, Elliot, big brother never liked living in the Nightray household. He never wanted to be a Nightray at all."

Something cracks in his chest and Elliot thinks it is his pride (but no, it goes deeper than that.) He recoils at Vincent's words, shaking his head. "So, he... and you..." he stumbles.

Vincent tilts his head to the side. His expression, ever coy, ever masked, he couldn't read. "We are not your family, Elliot," he says and there is a cold sliver of finality to the words. "Stop pretending that we are."

Elliot curses him and flees, not thinking about how he is the one running away until he collapses onto his bed, angry tears wetting the pillowcase.


	4. (red string)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, during the harvest festival for Saint Vesta, the real truth comes out.

(part 4. red string)

"Joyous Saint Vesta's!" Leo offers the wrapped candies, decorated with a tied stalk of wheat, to the little girl. "Have a bountiful harvest!"

"Bountiful harvest to you too!" she replies, giving a shy smile before returning to her coterie at the far table.

"Joyous Saint Vesta's!" chorus a pair of young boys after her. Leo fishes two presents from his bag – little wrapped boxes of candied nuts and sweetened popcorn as tradition holds – and the boys immediately open the boxes and stuff the honeyed chestnuts and sugared almonds in their mouths.

"Hey, not all at once!" he chides, tousling the head of the smaller boy.

The main hall of the House of Fianna buzzes with the chatter of its young occupants. Nuns had decorated their usual somber dress with simple necklaces of dyed wheat or colored corn kernels, and they flutter between long tables handing out helpings of the holiday meal. In front, alongside the statue of the Archangel-Saint Fianna the Charitable is another likeness of an older, more domestic figure with bushels of freshly mown wheat arranged in the shape of wings: the Archangel-Saint Vesta the Plentiful.

Autumn is half-over, and everywhere this time is celebrated as part of the annual Harvest Festival. Once the Festival ends, Elliot's fall break would cease as well and soon, he and Leo will depart to start the winter semester at Lutwidge Academy. This is the final time they'd be able to visit the orphanage until Winter Solstice.

"Joyous Saint Vesta's!" A tug on Elliot's sleeve as another child waits for their gift.

"Oh, bountiful harvest," he greets, distracted as he gives her a tinsel and wheat-stalk adorned package.

"Are you all right?" Leo gives him a quizzical look. "You've been off today."

"Yeah." Elliot shrugs. "Just couldn't sleep last night."

Leo pushes his glasses along the bridge of his nose. "Oh? I hadn't noticed."

"Biblio-mummy." Elliot jokingly elbows Leo. When Elliot first took Leo into the Nightray manor, he offered the youth his own set of rooms instead of the noticeably smaller servant's quarters off his master bedroom. The shared wall between them is thin, and Elliot had long complained about Leo's snoring habits, so his friend insulated his side of the wall with three towering bookshelves. Now his room is hardly larger than a walk-in closet, but Leo said he preferred cozy spaces.

Another gang of children comes barreling down the hallway and Leo and Elliot are deterred from their conversation with more gift-bestowing. But Leo returns to the topic, folding the empty burlap sack in his lap.

"I notice that Gil hasn't returned to the manor for another week. How did things work out?"

"I dunno." Elliot throws his sack to the ground. "I have no idea about anything with them anymore."

Leo takes one look at his friend's expression, surveys the room, and pulls aside one of the children. "Hey, can you tell the Mother Superior that we're going to head off?" He gives the child the last package of sweets, taken from his inside jacket pocket. "Don't tell your fellows you got an extra."

The child beamed and nodded.

"Joyous Saint Vesta's, kid."

"Bountiful harvest!"

"C'mon." Leo gestures to the door. "We can talk on the ride back."

"No, I don't feel much like heading home."

Leo takes his arm and guides the youngest Nightray out the front doors, waving good-byes to his own house of "siblings" as they depart. Several children jump on Leo, giving their good-bye hugs on his way out. Again, seeing Leo be occupied by his own 'family' stirs a sense of envy in Elliot. In Leo, he learned that though not everyone had a natural-born family, one could still make their own.

Elliot had thought Vincent and Gilbert counted as part of his. Vincent's words pained him, and even during the quiet moments of the day, he heard his snide tone, smelled Gilbert's deep scent, as if he had silently stamped Vincent's body with his approval of this message as well. And then, thinking of the sensual semi-flirtation Vincent displayed along with his heart-wrenching words made Elliot recall his fever dream, which provoked his body into an entirely different set of reactions-

Outside, Leo gestures for their carriage and turns to Elliot. "This is killing you," he says flatly. "I can see that."

"What do I care?" Elliot scoffs. He kicks up a stone in the road. "Vincent and Gilbert don't want anything to do with me. Leo, Vince told me last night that he and Gil  _hate_  being Nightrays."

"Seriously? With the amount of dysfunction in your house,  _I'd_  hate being a Nightray too."

Leo ducks the blow he knows is coming and Elliot doesn't swing again, realizing it is his temper getting the best of him.

"Sorry about that that," he says sincerely. "I didn't want to hurt you."

Elliot calls the driver down, mutters an address to him and they board the carriage. Leo leans his head onto his fists, thinking. "So you think they are deliberately trying to break from the House? If what Vincent told you is true, why did they stick around for so long?"

"Because we're nobles." The truth tastes bitter. "That's the only reason why anyone wants anything to do with us. We're rich, we're powerful, and we have the Raven." He frowns. "Now that Gilbert's our Dukedom's Contractor, we don't even have our Chain anymore."

The memory of him in Gilbert's rooms a year ago, seeing the man prone on his bed, injured and exhausted from his trial. Gilbert had told him of the drama in the Raven's presence - the Chain's demands upon him and the raw fear he felt. After seeing Gilbert work so hard to Contract this monster, Elliot had no idea the scope of Gil's determination in the face of terror until Gilbert told him this. Seeing Gilbert lying there, Elliot felt the need to somehow comfort him. Perhaps a hug (but Nightrays don't hug). So instead, he gave Gilbert a hearty clap on the back, told him that he was proud to have him as an older brother.

A moment later, Vanessa had burst in, tear-ridden. The worst had happened. On Fred's departure to his estate, his carriage was stopped. Fred, his uncle-in-law, the driver, a few unlucky passersby, all of them - beheaded. Victims of what terrified witnesses could only describe as some monstrous woman. The Head Hunter.

And that was how this current nightmare began.

"And all along, they were playing us, waiting for the Raven," Elliot rants. Of course. All of the pieces are coming together. Vincent and Gilbert were street rats. Peasants. All they craved is power and wealth and a bed and food and a roof over their heads. Selfish pursuits. Anyone else they don't care about. Only themselves. The bastards.

Leo frowned. "Listen," he says, "I don't know your brothers as well as you do. Even if all of this is the truth, I think you should confront them on it."

"I am. Where do you think we're going?"

The carriage slows to a halt. Leo looks out the window and gives a low whistle. "Whoa. What a piece of shit."

"Tell me about it." Elliot hops off, avoiding the horse droppings in the road. They are now in the slums of the city, in front of a shuttered tenement house. "I'm heading up."

"What am I, chopped liver?"

He grins and gives Leo a playful smack on the back of his head. "As you said, this is between me and them." He waits a moment and then impulsively plants a kiss on the top of Leo's head.

"Thanks, Leo. You've really helped me sort things out."

"Whatever, mate." Leo swats the gesture away and resigns back into the carriage. "Just stop with your moping and your sentimentality. Neither suits you. And we need to finish up that song we're writing before your mother's name day party."

"Yeah, yeah." He gives a rueful grin that only lasts until the carriage pulls out of view.

The whole building, despite its dilapidated state, is full of song and splendor. Red strings of popcorn and colored beans drape the front foyer, and a pile of shiny wrapping paper from discarded gifts little the darkened hallway. Sounds of piano-playing, people singing, and clinks of tankards and cutlery echo in the narrow passageways from connected tenement flats. The strong scent of sweetened oats and fresh-baked bread and cakes - Saint Vesta's food - wafts in the air. Elliot winds his way up the narrow stairwell to the only flat occupying that floor. He hears soft laughter on the other side, the soft hum of music on a gramophone. Threads of crimson hang over the threshold, making a loose rag curtain.

Red string represents life and passion and growth. It binds us all together in an interconnected web of the world, like chains. That is the power of the red string, linking people together, as well as hopes and dreams. Growing things and strength and living blood- that is what Mother told him about the harvest festival of Saint Vesta. "We are all connected," she explained to him as a child, "the old faith says that even our lives are strung together, our past lives to our present ones."

Elliot thinks about these strings of fate and destiny. He wants to believe that he matters as much to Gilbert and Vincent as they matter to him. That they are all tied together. Not by blood, necessarily, but by bonds much stronger than that.

The door to Gilbert's flat is ajar, and Elliot feels another link-Vincent's door ajar a week ago. Open doors. Silent permission to enter. What more can a person offer on a holiday other than their hospitality?

He calls, "Gilbert? Vincent? It's me."

The chatter stops. The door widens.

"Elliot." Gilbert appears. He has an apron on and his clothes are dusted with flour. Behind him, Elliot sees Vincent on the couch, draped over the piece of furniture like a predator claiming territory. He arches an eyebrow at Elliot and is chewing a piece of cake, eating the slice between his bare hands.

Elliot took out the box of sweets he, too, had saved from the Fianna stock. "Bountiful harvest to you."

"Bountiful harvest," Gilbert automatically replies and lets Elliot enter.

Gilbert's tenement lives up to its type; the space was barely big enough to fit the couch, a small wood stove, a rickety table and the bed, all in one room. In the far corner Elliot spots a water pitcher and basin. He wonders where the toilet is, briefly, until he remembers seeing a shared stall in a nook in the hallway.

But the tight space still looks festive; colored red, gold and orange paper links hung from the windows, along with the required strings of corn and beans. There is a clean embroidered cloth on the table, which is laden with various cakes, tarts, and a steaming loaf of bread. Elliot's impressed by the spread given the means used to create it. "This is a cozy place," he compliments, thinking how this entire apartment was as large as his bedroom at home.

"Um, sit down. Have some." Gilbert cuts a slice of chocolate-frosted layer cake and looks a bit beside himself. "Um, I'm sorry, I don't have many extra plates."

"No, that's fine," Elliot removes his gloves, takes the cake onto his open hand. The chocolate drips onto his fingers, stains his palms, and feels deliciously warm. The couch sinks beneath his weight, springs broken, and he slumps into Vincent. Vince is licking the frosting from his fingers, taking time between the digits. Elliot expects Vince to shy away from him, given their confrontation last night, but instead, he props his shoulder against him as he catches the last of the stickiness from his thumb.

"The cake isn't poisoned," he says slyly and Elliot realizes that he had been too pre-occupied by Vince licking himself to bite into his own piece. He does, feeling the prickling of a flush at the tips of his ears. The cake is still warm and practically melts in his mouth. "S'good," he mumbles and soon consumes the whole piece in five quick bites. He swallows, takes the glass of wine Gilbert offers and washes the sweetness away. Elliot, now at the awkward phase of this meeting, immediately downs the glass as a distraction (or, as Ernest would say, liquid courage). The food and drink are extremely satisfying and the wine is strong, hitting Elliot immediately.

"Thank you, Gil. I didn't realize you could cook."

"Because no one lets me use the kitchen." Gilbert cracks a smug look. "I used to cook all the time at the Vessalius manor for..." The sentence trails off and he glances down at his boots. He knew that he fell upon a rough subject; his past employment working for the Nightray's rivals.

"Well, good job," Elliot rushes, having the feeling that you only tell a toddler "good job" when they did something well and not a 23-year-old man.

Before the silence seeps in Gilbert asks, "More wine?" and he nods, refilling his glass. Elliot is halfway through the second glass when he musters up his concern. "You know why I'm here."

Gilbert twists an apron string around one finger. "I haven't been at the manor."

Vincent lowers his glass. "He's not a child and you're not his mum."

"Yea." Elliot closes his eyes. Is it the emotion or the alcohol that makes him believe the room is spinning? "I came by to say that..." he swallows hard. "I understand what Vincent means. And... and I accept that."

"Vincent..." Gilbert gives a hard edge to the name and Vincent gives that lopsided, indescribable half-smile of his. "I told the truth," he says lightly. He tips his glass in a toasting motion to Elliot. "We're not blood. And he shouldn't pretend we're something we're not."

The words came out much crueler last night. Elliot frowns. "You meant something else before."

"I mean every single word." Vincent moves forward. He and Elliot are nose-to-nose. That disquieting tension seeps into Elliot's limbs, that feeling which came with the dream. Is he dreaming now? Will he wake up soon?

He grabs Vincent's face. Marks of chocolate from his fingers stain Vincent's cheek. "Why'd you say that crap last night?" he growls. "That you and Gil never wanted to be Nightrays. That you hate me."

"Hate you?" Vincent is taken back. Elliot grips harder and feels Gilbert ease him away as he sits on his other side.

"What's going on?"

"Last night. Vincent told me that you never liked living in the manor. As a Nightray. You... you didn't care." The words come in a flood and Elliot is unable to stop all of the pent-up frustrations. "I know what you and Vince wanted all along. Just the title. And the Raven. Now you got them both and you're just planning to run away like everyone else has run away now that Fred's gone and got himself killed. You're all scared, y-you're all cowards, you want to leave me behind like everyone else in my family has, and... and..." He hiccups and feels a strangled sob in his throat. "Just tell me the truth for once, damn it. Did any of it matter to you? Being together? All those years? Did it count for anything?" He squeezes his eyes shut tight. He couldn't bear seeing their reactions to all of this pathetic blubbering.

A gentle tone. "Hey, hey there, hey, listen." A pair of arms wrap across Elliot's chest; it is Gilbert holding him in a tight embrace. The dark-haired man buries his face in Elliot's neck, begins to rock him. Elliot feels another warm body close and it is Vincent, snuggling against him. Their knees knock together and Elliot nearly tips his wineglass over; Vincent takes it into his own wine-holding hand and places two of the glasses on the floor.

Now he hears their voices over him.

"Oh Gil," mutters Vincent, "you've totally muddled this up."

"Vince, shut it. You didn't help."

"I was doing what we planned. We needed to keep Elliot safe."

Elliot lifts his head. "So it was about me?"

Vincent looks at him with a steady gaze. "Y'know, with Gilbert contracting the Raven, he'll be the Head Hunter's next target," he explains softly. "That's why we think she got Fred first. Because wasn't he the Heir-Apparent?"

"With Fred gone, succession falls next upon whoever contracts the Raven," Gilbert says. "Anyone around me could be put in harm's way. The rest of the family suspects the same, we think. So that's why all of your older siblings left. I know Vanessa wanted to take you south," he adds, "but Lady Nightray thought you'd be safer if you finished your studies at school. When you returned to the manor for the festival break, it only made sense for me to leave and have Vincent keep an eye on you and Leo."

Elliot looks from one brother to the other. "Y'mean-?"

"Told you you're all Gil thinks about." Vincent kisses Elliot's cheek. "And, granted, I was upset when Gilbert told me his plan. I got over it, though, because," another peck on the other cheek, "I've become accustomed to you too."

"But why-"

"Isn't it always easier to drive someone away than to have them decide to leave?" Vincent shakes his head. "I thought it would work until you showed up here."

Everything makes perfect sense. However, something about the way Vincent speaks, even when he admitted to conspiracy with Gilbert, seems off. There is something eluding Elliot, something to this puzzle that he's missing...

"So the two of you, aren't-?"

"That's always been the truth." A shift in position and Elliot finds himself on Vincent's lap. Gilbert rubs his shoulders and Elliot feels something warm and hard press between his legs and another against the small of his back.

Panic flutters up. "Wait, whoa, hold up," he tries sitting up, but the couch is too collapsed and he pitches forward into Vincent. He feels Vincent start nuzzling his neck and tries getting on hands and knees only to feel Gilbert grasp his hips and rubs him against his. From this trapped position between the two, Elliot feels their arousals against his own and a moan escapes him.

He is dreaming, he must be dreaming. "Leo, shut the door-"

"The door's already shut."

"Next time, we can ask Leo to join in."

A sharp, "Vince!" and a reprimanding slap on the back of his head where Gilbert can reach him.

Too hot. Now everything feels too hot. Must be the wine, yes, that is it. Elliot feels hands on his body and another moan escapes. He wants this, he wants this so badly, but he's afraid in a way that he's never been afraid before. "Please," he begs, "don't tell anyone."

"Don't tell anyone about Gil and me and we'll keep mum about this too." Vince again. He licks Elliot's neck, begins to unbutton his shirt.

That is the final piece.

"No, please, stop lying." Elliot pushes sharply away, squirms between them (which is difficult, considering how Gilbert is undressing him from below as quickly as Vincent is removing his top. "You either want me or you're tricking me. You can't have both."

"I want you," Gilbert assents and Elliot loses it at those words.

He bucks against Gilbert and then arches his hips in the air, downward-dog style so Gil can remove his trousers and underclothes. Vincent pulls off his shirt and between the three of them, all remaining clothes are soon gone. Elliot kisses Gilbert first, pressing their bodies together as Gilbert leads him to the bed. They fall together onto the creaking mattress and Vincent joins them. Elliot is laid flat and he feels Vincent sucking his nipples and Gilbert gripping his cock and he reaches for them, anywhere, pulling them in and he groans deeply as Gilbert massages him below.

He is being pinned down onto the bed but it feels too much like the dream and too unreal and so he scrambles on all fours and throws Gilbert flat on his back and mounts him. Vincent pulls Elliot off, hissing a, "Tsk, tsk, only I get to ride big brother," and so Elliot holds Vincent from behind, rubbing their bodies together (Vincent is so thin, so fragile, Elliot wants to crush him entirely). Out from a bag on the floor Gilbert removes a thin tube and squirts a clear substance on his hands.

"This will help," he explains, doling the cream between the three of them. Elliot, as skilled as he is in other areas, stares bewildered at the mound in his palm until he watches Vincent prepare his older brother, slipping those fingers deep inside him. Gil spreads his legs wider, arching his back to expose that lovely arse more and he makes wild yet restrained little sounds which makes Elliot get only harder.

"Now me," Vincent urges and Elliot tries to imitate that swift motion but hesitates at the opening. "Do it!" Vincent reaches over and takes Elliot's hand to plunge his fingers in and gives an huge sigh of pleasure. Vincent is so tight and so warm. Elliot works his fingers slowly, and then faster at the blond's urging and after a few swift jerks Vincent says, "Fill me. Give me your cock."

Elliot doesn't know how to angle properly but after a few tries, he feels Vincent's warmth envelope him. He groans again and at that moment, hears Gilbert's tiny mews grow into a full-on moan; Vincent had sheathed his brother to the hilt.

Gilbert's head hits the pillows, and he arches backwards again and again, thrusting upwards into Vincent, into Elliot. Elliot can only see the whites of his eyes as Gilbert moves as if possessed and his voice is ragged as he commands, "Move! Fuck me, move!"

Elliot thrusts, immediately, and Vincent swears as well and orders, "Together."

Yes, they are. Elliot moves his hips with more care, realizing that Vincent is bearing his weight while also moving into Gilbert and Gilbert, sweating and crying out, is at both of their mercies.

The pacing evens out and soon, they move in a steady rhythm. Elliot grips Vincent's hips and then his hair, yanking his head back for a biting kiss that Vincent returns with equal ferocity. Gilbert, he catches, ploughing his head into the pillows in opposite time with the upward thrust of his pelvis, lost in another realm of bliss, silent words escape him as if in prayer.

Eventually, Elliot makes out the words: "Beautiful, beautiful, you're beautiful, gods yes Vince, Elliot, beautiful, love you."

Yes, beautiful. Passionate. Life.

Elliot comes first and he empties out the wetness into Vincent, the orgasm making him go blind for a moment.

Gilbert sends an arc of white spilling across the sheets and his chest; Vincent gives a long shudder and a signal Elliot doesn't know; Gilbert, spent, grabs Vincent by the back of the neck and sinks his teeth down into his collarbone; at the pain Vincent cries and falls limp between them.

As Elliot collapses between his brothers, sated and relieved, he sees a red string float down from the windows and fall onto the bed. For a few moments, each of them remain lost in his own tired delight.

Elliot twists the yarn around his wrist, before encircling Vincent's and Gilbert's.

Together. By destiny and fate.

And hope, despite everything that has happened and everything that awaits them.

Elliot ties a bow, creating a loop between them.

This is what he's wanted all along.

* * *

End.


End file.
